Maurice is unmarried and learns he has a son named Duk Won from a casual liaison with prostitute Yung Yong Ja during his deployment in the Korean War that he did not know of until many years later.[5] He is not anxious to be a father to Duk, remarking that, "all of my life I've dreamed of a son, a tow-headed tyke to bounce on my knee, but instead I get a middle-aged Chinaman". He bonds with Duk but, when he remembers Duk's mother, he realizes Duk does not care about his fortune, and that Duk is a healthy, highly-educated, and skilled electrical engineer. They remain in touch, despite the language barrier, with Maurice's teenaged Korean-American grandson (Yung Bong Joo) serving as interpreter. Duk later asks Maurice's permission to marry the daughter of his wartime archenemy.[6]"

Towards the end of the series, Maurice's second cousin, Maurice (named after him), visits as he evaluates the young man in taking over his business when he passes away.[3]

Maurice: When I heard we had a crack at a Jew doctor from New York City...well, I don't have to tell you I jumped. You boys do outstanding work.

Maurice: This is Cicely. She and Roslyn founded the town 97 years ago. Rumor and innuendo notwithstanding, they were just good friends.

Maurice: You signed a contract, Joel. But much more important than that, you gave your word. And I intend to hold you to that word within the bounds of the law. If necessary, without the bounds of the law.

Maurice: I'll take the hit. Maurice Minnifield is not one to dodge responsibility. And what went out of here yesterday on my airwaves was a disgrace. Now, whether or not Walt Whitman deserves to be in the big tent with the big boys will be up to the vultures and the bookworms to decide. But the Minnifield Communications Network will not be a party to an expose or a seal hunt. This is Cicely, Alaska; not San Francisco. That being said, here's a tune from the, uh, Broadway show Kiss Me, Kate. Music and lyrics by Cole Porter, who lived to be past a hundred. That oughta brighten up your day.

Maurice: I didn't see you at the town meeting last night, Joel.Joel: Well, I got stood up by an Indian.Maurice: Oh. You know, we haven't known each other very long, Joel; but I've come to enjoy our dialogues over the past couple of weeks. In some ways, I think of us as kindred spirits. I hope you feel the same.Joel: Maurice, you nearly blew my head off in a rowboat with a shotgun.Maurice: (chuckling) Oh, that. Well, that was nothing personal, son. You had it coming. But...after what those ingrates tried to do to me last night--and in a church! They nicked me, son.Joel: Maurice, c-can I be frank? Y-You're no good on the radio. Your choice of material i-is, um... Ah, well, it's awful. And y-your personality is like, uh, lox, o-or olives, o-or a strong cup of coffee... It's, um, it's an acquired taste.Maurice: So, what you're saying is, I'm too different.Joel: Yeah. Yeah, sort of. In a way. You know Maurice, that you have in your power to square things with Chris.Maurice: No, I-I can't do that, son. I've got my pride.Joel: Boy, that's what it comes down to, doesn't it? (scoffs) You, Maggie, Chris, Anku...Maurice: Who the hell was that last one?

Maurice: When I was a boy growing up in Oklahoma City, I'd go to the show on Saturday. My favorite was John Wayne. It didn't matter what kind of movie it was--cowboy picture, war movie--I was with him all the way. Except for The Quiet Man. That one bored the hell out of me. By the time I was nine years old, I was walkin' and talkin' like 'The Duke.' Then one day the walls came crashin' down. I was playin' army with the Marshall boys, Jed and Jeff, in Bailey's woods, and Jeff said kind of offhandedly...that John Wayne didn't do his own fightin', didn't throw his own punches, didn't take his own hits or his own falls. Well, I kicked the hell out of the Marshall boys, and then I ran all the way home and asked my daddy if it was true that John Wayne didn't do his own fightin'. And he said yes. John Wayne was my hero, and the Marshall boys gave him feet of clay. Now, I don't give a damn if Walt Whitman kicked with his right foot or his left foot, or that J. Edgar Hoover took it better than he gave it, or that Ike was true-blue to Mamie, or that God-knows-who had trouble with the ponies or with the bottle. We need our heroes! We need men we can look up to, believe in; men who walk tall. We can not chop 'em off at the knees just to prove that they're like the rest of us! Now, Walt Whitman...was a pervert, but he was the best poet that America ever produced. And if he was standing here today, and somebody called him a fruit or a queer...behind his back, or to his face, or over these airwaves; that person would have to answer to me. Sure, we're all human. But there's damn few of us that have the right stuff to be called heroes. That closes the book on that subject.

Maurice: What do you want?Chris: I, uh, forgot some stuff. I can come back.Maurice: Make it quick. I'm busy.Chris: You've got a furtive mind, Maurice. What I mean is, it's like the waters of the Big Muddy. It's hard to see the bottom of it. It's deep where you think it's gonna be shallow, and it's shallow where it should be deep.Maurice: You lookin' for another beatin, son?Chris: No, sir. Not at all. Look, Maurice, that I'm tryin' to say is; it was never my intention to cut down Mr. Whitman. All right? But I can see now how what I said, in some people's eyes, could be taken that way. You know, I don't, I don't want people reading Walt Whitman for the wrong reasons Maurice. And I most assuredly don't want to kill the child inside the man.Maurice: You did a bad thing Chris.Chris: I know. I'm sorry.Maurice: And?Chris: And?Maurice: And?Chris: And I apologize. And I am... uh, I... I don't know. What?Maurice: And you want your job back, right?Chris: Right.Maurice: Okay. Everybody deserves a second chance. This is yours. Oh, uh, on a personal note, uh...I'd like to compliment you on that left cross you snuck in on me. Uh, I felt it. Matter of fact, I saw stars. Well, not stars exactly. More like fireflies.Chris: Hey, Maurice...thanks.

Ed: Ed? Ed? Y-You alright, Ed?Ed: Huh?Maurice: Out of the kindness of my heart, and against my better judgement, I've allowed you to come up here and use my Macintosh to work on that film script you keep talking about. And what do I see as the sum total of all of my well-intentioned efforts? A blank screen and a lot of wasted electricity.Chris: What you got--you got writer's block, Ed?Ed: I guess.Maurice: Writer's block, my diddly. Give the stud a gun, a car...throw in a good-lookin' woman; then you've got yourself a movie. Grope and kill. Grope and kill. Pretty soon they'll be naming overstuffed sandwiches for you down in the lower 48.

Maurice: Do you know what the motto of the state of Alaska is, Joel?Joel: "If it ain't broke, don't fix it'?Maurice: No. "North to the future." That's my motto too. The compass point to opportunity. The direction for tomorrow.Joel: A caribou in every pot; a snowmobile in every garage.Maurice: Space, son...Lebensraum...room to build, room to grow.Joel: You are the man for the job, Maurice; a general on the battlefield of history. If anyone can pave Alaska, it's you.Maurice(chuckles): Kind words, son. But the Minnifield empire will not bear fruit in one man's lifetime.Joel: Yeah, I hear it didn't work out with you and Chris. I'm sorry. You know, maybe you could start a trust: The Minnifield Foundation. It worked for the Rockefellers; the Gettys.Maurice: No...I've come up with something else, Joel.Joel: Really? What's that?Maurice: I've decided to live forever.(Joel laughs)

Maurice(on-air): Sometimes, when you look back on a situation, you realize it wasn't all you thought it was. A beautiful girl walked into your life. You fell in love. Or did you? Maybe it was only a childish infatuation, or maybe just a brief moment of vanity.

Maurice(catches Ed talking to his statue) Look, Ed. If you've got something to say, you say it to me. You got that?Ed: Okay, Maurice. But, uh--Maurice: But what?Ed: Well, it's just that he's a little easier to talk to.Maurice: The statue?Ed: Well, he doesn't throw my thoughts off like you do sometimes.Maurice: I don't throw your thoughts off, son! What are you talking about?Ed: Well, kind of like now, Maurice.Maurice: I'm not in the business of throwing people's thoughts off! Is that clear?

Maurice: The orchid, the aristocrat of the flower family. The most sophisticated plant on earth. Clearly a cut above. But, it's got petals like everybody else. The lowly daisy, the cheap carnation, half-baked azelia; like these, the orchid needs warmth. It needs care and kindness to get by. These flowers need you people. No, I need you.

Holling: A new hat... fun for a while.. a little variety, change you know, something different. For a good fit, and a comfortable feeling there is nothing like an old hat. You know what I mean?Maurice: I know that you mean.Holling: Well then?Maurice: Well.